


In Consequence of Inventing Machines

by SoundandColor



Category: Crimson Peak (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Begging, Emotional Manipulation, F/F, Fucking Machines, Illnesses, Nonconathon Treat, Overstimulation, Poisoning, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-05-28 23:19:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15060020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoundandColor/pseuds/SoundandColor
Summary: If Thomas wants Edith he’s welcome to her, but Lucille will have her first.





	In Consequence of Inventing Machines

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peachis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachis/gifts).



> _In consequence of inventing machines_ , men will be devoured by them.  
> -Jules Verne

 

“Down there?” Edith is smiling, but Lucille can hear the hesitation in her voice. Still in her night dress, she looks impossibly young as she peeks down the stairs over Lucille’s shoulder. Curious, but reticent.

 

Lucille returns her smile thinly. “Just a bit further,” she says, sweeping the bottom of her dark day-dress to the side before turning and descending the stairs. The house is still and quiet above them, Thomas having started for the post office by himself after Edith began feeling ill, and they are very much alone.

 

She’s lighting a candle in the bottom-most room when she hears Edith’s gentle step entering the wide doorway. The other woman stops short and holds up her own candle as she looks around. The same dark red brick on the facade of Allerdale hall covers the walls. The ceiling is low, but curved just enough to fit the large piece of machinery that takes pride of place at its center. Constructed of only dull, dark metal. Its frame is oddly beautiful. Sharp lines interspersed with curving pipes and brass topped knobs and switches. Lucille knows every divet and screw of this contraption and can afford to ignore it in favor of her guest.

 

With the flickering light in the darkness, Edith looks ethereal, angelic, stunning.

 

Lucille’s mouth moves into a flat line.

 

“What is this?”

 

Lucille clasps her hands, then moves to open a large vent in the corner. “Have you ever heard of a _tremoussoir_ or a _manipulator_?”

 

Edith stands taller and narrows her before answering. “I haven’t.”

 

Lucille moves back toward the machine and places her hand on a straight metal bar extended out over a low wooden bench. The seat is covered with a velvet cushion in a vibrant cobalt blue. With their finances as they are, Lucille hadn’t wanted to bother with that last piece of frippery, but Thomas insisted upon it. The way he’d looked at her as she laid back against it that first time made her come to appreciate some forms of nonsense.

 

“It’s a mechanical type of pelvic message.”

 

Lucille can see Edith still doesn’t quite grasp the idea, but understanding is creeping upon her. There’s a wariness about the girl now. “Did—did Thomas create this?”

 

Lucille laughs out loud at that. “He’d never dream up such a thing on his own. When we were younger, they—I’m not sure if you knew—I fell ill. The doctors used something like this on me. Less elaborate, of course, but you know my brother.” The two women share a conspiratorial smile before Lucille glances away. “They said it would cure me,” she mutters lowly. _It didn’t_ goes left unsaid.

 

“And Thomas recreated it?” It sounds more like an accusation than a question and the girl's bow lips are turned down in disapproval. Lucille is surprised at the protective look in Edith’s eyes.

 

“I asked him to.” She defends her brother reflexively. Though _ask_ is a weak word for what happened that night. Demanded, ordered, commanded…

 

He’d only heeded her words after Lucille drew blood.

 

She thinks of him standing there watching her after he’d finally completed building the machine. How angry he’d been with her. How she’d had to force him to watch her use it, how he’d been flushed with desire and full of absolution after seeing what this contraption of his, at least, was capable of accomplishing. Once upon a time, that memory brought a smile to her face. Lucille can feel herself frowning at the thought of it now. He’ll never forgive her, she’s sure of it, not this time. She slowly moves to stand between Edith and the staircase.

 

The girl is oblivious. She touches the monstrous frame of Lucille’s machine gingerly, enthralled. “How would this have cured you?” She looks confused. “I—”

 

Before she can begin to question herself further, Lucille springs forward. This far below the earth, the sodding mud leaves a slick film across every surface. As she lunges, Lucille very nearly loses her footing. She feels her slippered feet going out from under her and If Edith hadn’t stood frozen in place, if she hadn’t gaped at Lucille with incredulity, she could’ve gotten around her and up the stairs, but Edith does freeze and Lucille is on her.

 

Even with the poison in the other woman’s system, she’s shocked by how easy it is to overpower her. _Is that why he chose you?_ she wonders. The question is bitter in her throat. She reaches out to shove the girl back but Edith ducks beneath her arm, shocking her. She’s almost made it to the stairwell when Lucille grabs her by the hair and yanks her back. Edith’s scream is enough to shake the walls, but no one can hear her. Not this far out. Lucille bares her teeth and backhands her hard across the face, stunning Edith, before forcing her back onto the bench.  

 

She’s breathing hard, but her hands are steady when she pulls the worn leather cuffs tucked underneath the bench free and binds Edith’s ankles and wrists. The seat has a very deliberate design, not so tall that the person tied upon it hangs limply, but too wide for them to comfortably get their feet underneath them and possibly break free.

 

Lucille watches her struggle for a moment, hypnotized.

 

“What are you doing?” Edith is purposefully calm, but barely just. She pulls hard on her wrists and ankles. Her face is sweaty and pale from illness and shock. “Let me up!”

 

She tunes her out. Thomas hadn’t wanted to leave his bride and his sister alone today. They’d gotten into an argument about it before he’d begrudgingly set off by himself. Lucille isn’t daft, though she knows it would be beneficial to her if she were. Or if she was, at the very least, better at pretending to be. She can read the writing on the _goddamned wall_. Her brother is drawn to this woman in a way he wasn’t with the others. In a way he isn’t drawn to her.

 

She hates him for it. She hates the both of them.

 

“Let me go, now!”

 

Lucille slowly pulls the pins out of her elaborate updo and turns instead, making her way to a cupboard tucked discreetly into the corner. When she pulls the door open, disembodied phalluses made of glass, wood, rubber and leather rather than flesh and bone meet her gaze. She lays the pins down and considers one of the larger versions, but settles on a midsized organ carved from smooth, milky ivory. She wraps her hand around the shaft and smiles.

 

If Thomas wants this girl, he’s welcome to her, but Lucille will have her first.

 

She’s not sure Edith truly understood what was about to happen until Lucille turns. When the girl sees what she has in her hand, her eyes go wide and she starts kicking wildly, though it does little good against the strength of Lucille’s bonds. “Stop this!”

 

 _Too late for that now_ , Lucille thinks and drops down to the side of the bench where Edith’s knees have been forced partially open by the restraints at her ankles., Lucille picks up the hem of her white gown and begins rolling it up, slowly revealing pinched knees and crisp white drawers. She sets the attachment off to the side as she gets her hands underneath the waistband and begins to remove that last item of clothing. She’s breathing hard, nearly panting. When she can't pull them any lower than  Edith's knees, Lucille wishes she had been able to undress her before tying her up. It’s of no matter, one hard tug remedies the problem. Then Edith, the muscles of her thighs pulled tight and thrumming with her frustrated need to pull them shut, is laid bare.

 

Lucille takes her in greedily.

 

Covered in a fine layer of blonde hair, she’s spread open, blushed pink and dry as the desert. Using the cold, impersonal cock in her hand to rip the girl open appeals to that dark and cobwebby corner of Lucille’s mind. Then she thinks better of it. The two of them, Edith and her brother, dream of a future where she is gone and forgotten. Even if they manage to escape her, she won’t let that happen. In her mind’s eye, she can see the girl waking up wet and wanton. Shaking with the need for this, _for her_ and hating herself for it. She imagines how that desire will infect their life, poison their love and, for the first time in her life, craves it more than blood. Lucille is used to the solid feel of a hammer when it comes to the task of enacting revenge, this time, the feather just may be a better weapon.

 

“Lucille.”

 

She looks up through her hair and meets Edith’s pleading gaze.

 

“Don’t.”

 

Lucille tsks and runs the palms of her hands up the inside of the girl’s thighs, thumbing the coral-colored frill of the lips at their juncture. When she finally leans in, she starts with gentle bites on Edith’s inner thighs, sucking kisses. The girl’s hands are clenched into tight fists where they’re tied to the bench’s legs, but she makes no sound. No whimpers or sighs, no screams or curses.

 

She puts her hand on Edith’s abdomen and pulls back, revealing the firm bit of flesh between her legs. Lucille leans further over, taking it into her mouth. Edith let’s out a sharp gasp and pulls hard enough on her ties that Lucille hears the wood creak.

 

She’s generous with her, gentle with her tongue and her fingers. She works Edith slowly. Drags her tongue down and licks inside of her before testing her with fingers. It’s easy work for Lucille, a job she enjoys doing, and Edith is growing wet beneath her mouth.

 

“Stop. _Please_.”

 

She doesn’t. Lucille adds more suction, another finger and clears her mind of all hatred, of revenge, of love. She lets her conscious mind sink back until there is only the animal essence of herself, the smell and the taste of the girl beneath her, Lucille’s power over her.

 

She pulls back and uses her thumbs to spread Edith wider, less gentle this time. She’s blushed dark, the lips glistening from Lucille’s mouth and Edith's own unwanted arousal. When her hand pulls back and comes down with a stinging slap between Edith’s thighs, it surprises even herself. It’s shocking, just how loudly skin connects with skin. With Lucille kneeling at her side, the angle is odd, but she brings her hand down again and the blush is turning deep red. The red of the clay beneath their home, swallowing them whole.

 

When she hits Edith a third time, the girl can’t hold back a scream and Lucille looks up to see her face red and wet with tears. “I can’t--please! No more!”

 

Lucille takes deep, gasping breaths, touches the abused skin between Edith’s thighs gingerly and, before the other woman can stand her touch without shying away, uses her mouth again, all sweetness. It’s easy, too easy, to lose track of oneself down below the house, and Lucille only comes up for air when she hears the machines turning the clay switch off. It’s later than she imagined and Lucille is drifting away from the point of this excursion. She gets to unsteady feet, gore-colored mud staining her dress from knees to hem, and reaches for the discarded phallus. She uses her mouth to wet it before attaching it to the end of the machine. Edith hasn’t moved or looked at her since she stood up. Even when Lucille lines the machine up just inside of her entrance and walks toward the heavy switch that will turn it on, the girl still lays stock still, eyes screwed tightly shut.

 

When Lucille pulls the lever, a heavy burst of steam escapes the machine from one of the pipes, the gears screech as they begin turning and the rod between the other woman’s knees pulls back ever so slowly. At the first drive forward, Edith’s eyes fly open with a scream. Lucille’s mouth had done a fine job in preparing her, but nothing could truly ready someone, be they virgin or whore, for the first plunge of this brute.

 

She doesn’t scream again, but instead lets out a low, continuous groan that Lucille is unable to translate as either pain or pleasure. The machine keeps pumping with smooth, even thrusts that would break down even the strongest of wills. Edith is no match. She whines and shivers under its mindless stroke. Begs for something she cannot or will not name. Lucille watches. Even with the vent open the room is becoming overly warm and her hair and gown are wet from the steam.

 

When Lucille throws the switch to the off position, Edith’s head rolls toward her lazily. Her face is flushed bright pink, and her eyes are far away, unfocused.   

 

“This is what you wanted, then,” Lucille says. “Of course it is. Why you married a stranger. Why you didn’t run from this house screaming.” She strokes the now slick appendage and feels a burst of warmth low in her loins. She smiles lightly. “Though it’s probably not attached to who you imagined it would be.”

 

“Want this?” Edith asks. She sounds angry, some life filtering back into her gaze. “I never wanted _this_. I married him because I love him. I—”

 

Lucille cuts in, pure rage reaching up from somewhere deep inside and nearly gagging her with its ferocity. “You have no clue what it takes to care for Thomas,” she scoffs as she leans forward. “ _Love him_? You haven’t the stomach for it.”

 

The younger woman watches her with wary eyes and Lucille steps back, breathing hard. She turns her face toward the ceiling of her crumbling family estate and for the first time in a long time, she wishes for her father. She forces the feeling back savagely. There’s no room for weakness here.

 

“Lucille?” The sound of Edith’s voice startles her, and when she looks back to her captive, there are tears glowing beautifully in the girl’s eyes. _This isn’t real_ , Lucille thinks. The girl is trying to confuse her. Trying to trick Lucille into letting her go. She’s pulled toward Edith anyway. “I know you feel as though I’ve stolen Thomas from you, that you are alone, but he would never leave you. Stop this. We can be a family. All three of us. We can be happy.”

 

She almost wishes she could believe it. Lucille gets down on her knees then and kisses Edith simply because she wants to, because she can, because no one can stop her. Edith’s lips are sweeter in that moment than any she’s ever known.

 

“We can go back,” Edith whispers. “Thomas needn’t ever know and we can go back to the way things were.”

 

It’s wrong. Lucille groans and rests her forehead against the girl's sternum for a moment. It’s the exact wrong thing to say.

 

She gets to her feet, walks back to the rows of dildoes adorning the shelves and looks over her shoulder at Edith with cold eyes. “You’ll never be a great writer.” With that, she picks up a larger version of the phallus already on the machine. Not big enough to tear, but more than enough to cause a nice _stretch_. She walks back to the contraption, wets it with her mouth and secures the new appendage in place.

 

“Shall we continue?”

 

The sound of the metal beast struggling to life drowns out Edith’s wailed reply.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for looking this over, Plutonianshores!


End file.
